


we'll figure out the rest

by blanchtt



Series: as far as i can see [1]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: One year and two months after the heist, settled comfortably into newfound wealth and Debbie having long ago moved into her loft, Lou only raises a brow as Debbie speaks up, tucked into a corner of the couch with Debbie curled against her, a vinyl playing in the distance and an empty bottle of wine now on the coffee table.It’s always been important to Debbie, to her identity, the support and direction and conspiratorial planning that comes with the Ocean name, and so the question is no surprise.





	we'll figure out the rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melrosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melrosie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Endure and Redress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15544941) by [melrosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melrosie/pseuds/melrosie). 



> Thank you for letting me play with your ideas.
> 
>  
> 
> Snapshots of a heist wives post-canon fam.

 

 

 

 

 

She’s never been an early riser. Luckily, it’s worked out.

 

Lou feels a hand gravitate toward the sling around her chest, feels the tiny person inside, warm and heavy, and knows Dominique is asleep.

 

Their daughter will stay that way as long as she keeps walking, and so Lou meanders slowly around the empty club, makes her way carefully around crumpled napkins and dropped cups and whatever else is on the polished conerete floor. Cleanup will start around noon when the first of her girls shows up for the early shift—for now, it’s empty and silent save for the vague, ever-present sounds of early New York traffic outside.

 

Lou raises her free hand, checks the time on her watch on her left wrist, and talks aloud—a new habit, since everyone says it’s good for development.

 

“Alright, little one,” she says, reaching into her blazer and taking her keys out of her pocket. “Your mum’s gonna have a fit if I’m not back in time for her to say goodbye to you.”

 

Lou locks up, makes her way home, out and up to the loft, unlocks the door and steps inside.

 

Debbie is already in the kitchen, eating at what constitutes their dining room table, and Lou walks by, presses a kiss to the top of Debbie’s head, pauses long enough for Debbie to reach up, a hand on her jaw, and pull her closer for a kiss before peering into the sling and kissing Dominique, too.

 

“Have a good day.”

 

“You, too.”

 

Lou sees her off, makes her way upstairs to their bed and sits down at the edge of it, undoes the sling fastidiously and cradles their daughter in her arms before laying her in the center of the bed.

 

Lou changes, keeps an eye on Dom the entire time, slips into a t-shirt and joins her on the bed. Her make-up she can take off later, and texts from work can be answered as needed. If there’s one thing she’s learned so far, it’s to get rest when Dominique sleeps.

 

And so Lou lies on her left side, watches Dominique sleep.

 

 _Will she ever get over how tiny this person is,_ Lou wonders. Probably not. She reaches out, brushes fingertips over the shock of dark hair that is softer than down, Debbie’s coloring.

 

After working all night it takes little time for Lou to fall asleep, arm curled loosely around Dominique, eternally grateful for her and Debbie’s staggered work hours which allows her to be home with their daughter during the day.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

_One year and two months after the heist, settled comfortably into newfound wealth and Debbie having long ago moved into her loft, Lou only raises a brow as Debbie speaks up, tucked into a corner of the couch with Debbie curled against her, a vinyl playing in the distance and an empty bottle of wine now on the coffee table._

 

_It’s always been important to Debbie, to her identity, the support and direction and conspiratorial planning that comes with the Ocean name, and so the question is no surprise._

_“You ever thought about starting a family?”_

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

On Monday mornings, she feels like running.

 

It’s still unnatural, to park her car in the parking lot, to swipe her badge and walk into work, to take the elevator up to the twelfth floor and turn left down the hall, two doors down and then into her office, to put her things down on her desk and shrug off her coat.

 

She wonders, sometimes, what Danny would think, and can only laugh at that.

 

Debbie settles into her chair, reaches out and taps her mouse and watches the computer screen light up, asking for her password. She types it in, hits enter, and waits for it all to boot up, reaches out and grabs her decaf coffee she’s set on a thin marble coaster.

 

The walls of her office are painted a light, calming grey, bare except for the abstract, contemporary piece she’d purchased and put on the wall behind her, something dull and bland enough to pass as a personality trait. The best lies hold a bit of the truth—personally, her tastes in art run more Neo-Expressionism, but she’s not exactly here to chit-chit.

 

Her desk, too, is clean and bare, perfect example of the perfect employee. Computer screen, one fountain pen, and coffee. No notes, no post-its, no phone numbers, no family pictures—no security breaches.

 

(It’s obvious from her wedding ring to her maternity leave that she has a family, but she doesn’t need that information out and open for everyone to peruse at their leisure, thank you very much).

 

Debbie takes her phone from her purse as her computer finishes initializing, brings up the screen with a tap and sees a message come in from Lou. With a swipe, she opens it, see’s that it’s selfie—bath time with Dominique held carefully in the sink, who now sports a wet little Mohawk, Lou in the background making the rock on sign with her free hand.

 

She smiles, taps her phone to shut it, and gets to work.

 

 

 

 

 

-

_She bullshits some credentials, has Nine Ball help her verify them, calls up the number Nine Ball gives her, and voila. It’s almost terrifyingly easy to land a legitimate job._

_Terrifying for them, but good for her. She owes Nine Ball a drink or something. Or some really good weed._

_Debbie settles into it quite easily, finds consulting for security companies something that occupies her well until five o’clock. There hasn’t yet been a plan, a layout, a network created that she hasn’t been able to look at, to consider, and then to stab holes in, patch up, mark complete for a client, and cash in handsomely on._

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Tammy makes a trip into the city, and Lou meets up with her for dinner before work, takes Dominique along so Debbie has an evening free to herself. And, of course, because Tammy has yet to see her, and as one of their oldest friends that borders on absurd at this point.

 

“How’s it feel?” Tammy asks, taking a bite of her meal, and Lou nods her head, shrugs a shoulder.

 

“Surprisingly natural, actually.”

 

She eats one-handed, the other curled around Dom in her arms, bottle tilted just so and Lou checking up on her every few minutes. All the books say touch is magic, and it really is. Dominique eats without a fuss and promptly falls asleep.

 

Mostly.

 

“You remember my offer, right?” Tammy asks.

 

“Well, shit,” Lou breathes, joking, puts the bottle on the table and shifts Dom into a sitting position, looks up from rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Did I do that bad a job on my make-up?”

 

“If you cover up dark circle half as well as you do hickies, no,” Tammy replies smartly, and Lou grins as Tammy holds up her free hand in a peace offering. “I’m just saying.”

 

“I do, and we appreciate it,” Lou says sincerely. “Once the sleep deprivation hits critical mass, I’m sure we’ll call you up.”

 

 

 

 

 

-

_Once she knows she tells Tammy first, even before Lou, because without Tammy there wouldn’t even be anything to discuss._

_“You’re joking, right?”_

_“Never been more serious in my life,” Debbie says, fronting a cool, confident smile, but it breaks into an excited one as soon as Tammy squeals, reaching out and enveloping her in a hug that Debbie returns._

_“Welcome to the club, mama.”_

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

They take Tammy up on her offer eventually, drop Dominique off with her for the weekend and make their way home.

 

It’s easy to fall back into _Debbie-and-Lou_.

 

As soon as the loft door closes Debbie pins her to the wall, comes quick and hard, and then in the bedroom Lou settles between her thighs, licks soft enough that she almost cries when she comes again. Later, with the taste of Lou on her lips, Debbie dials the same number she has a hundred times, buys sweet and sour pork for her and Peking duck for Lou and a fried rice dish they always split.

 

Lou drinks throughout the night but she doesn’t, but that’s hardly something she misses. The topic of their conversations has definitely changed, though.

 

Debbie’s awake the next morning before Lou, rolls over on to her stomach and reaches and grabs her phone off the nightstand, opens up Safari and starts scrolling.

 

She’s deep into page four of her search, multiple tabs open, when a hand slides to the small of her back and a kiss on her shoulder draws her from her thoughts.

 

“Whatcha looking at?” It’s half-mumbled against her skin, warm and low, and Debbie closes her eyes, leans into it and lets a frisson roll through her, thinking back to last night, before answering.

 

“Running strollers.”

 

That gets Lou’s attention.

 

“Deborah Ocean,” Lou says incredulously, and Debbie looks sideways, affronted and frowning a bit because is it that out of the ordinary for her to want to do something physical? Lou shifts, rolls lazily onto her side, props her elbow on the mattress and her head against her fist. “I have to say, I’m floored.”

 

“I’m feeling restless,” Debbie replies, dropping her phone, and reaches out, cups a breast as she slides on top of Lou and presses her back against the bed, kisses her.

 

“Going straight can do that to you,” Lou says offhandedly and a little breathlessly when they part, and Debbie feels something wash over her, the realization of the magnitude of the connection she’s got with Lou—partner in forgery, in fraud, in love—that she has with no one else.

 

(Lou might be in charge of a semi-legitimate business, but there was a time when they both went days together without knowing where their next break might come from, and Lou was the one to slip her the phone and supply her with cigarettes in the slammer and pick her up on a moment’s notice and agree to the Met heist on top of a million other things and, oh, it was Lou, always Lou.)

 

“Run with us,” Debbie asks, and dips her head because it’s impossible for Lou to say no, she knows, when she swirls her tongue just so around her nipple.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

_She’s twenty-one, burning through marks quick and clean, and they con their first ten thousand plus a Patek Phillipe that Lou grabs from the mark’s desk before they leave._

_They could contact Tammy, Debbie thinks as they hail a cab. Add another five thousand minimum to their score with that thing. But in the silence of the ride Lou places the watch on her skinny wrist, snaps the links in place, and it looks so natural on her even in the passing light of streetlamps and traffic lights, the blazer and the way she sits and now the watch, that Debbie can’t ask her to take it off._

_At least, not until she’s got Lou in bed, her legs wrapped around Lou’s waist and Lou’s hand high on her thigh, holding her there, other hand braced against the mattress, dark-eyed over her._

_“You break it, you buy it,” Debbie jokes, about the watch, about herself, caveat emptor a running thread throughout her life, and reaches up to ease it off Lou’s wrist, to let it slip easily from her hands somewhere between the sheets and the headboard as Lou smirks and starts to move between her thighs._

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Lou draws up the app on her phone, checks their route, and points down a walkway, settles in besides Debbie and matches her pace. They’d agreed on a nice, slow three mile walk around Central Park to get out of the house and test the stroller on one of their days off together— _no_ running, though.

The trees are starting to turn all different colors and the nip in the air means fall’s just around the corner, and Lou peers into the stroller, waves fingers at Dominique who’s got on about three or four layers of clothing, tucked into a blanket tight as a burrito, and with a beanie on that’s got little fuzzy bear ears, some cute thing courtesy of Constance.

 

“Constance asked if we want to do an escape room with her,” Lou throws out, remembering. It’s nowhere near the Met level, but hey—Met or motherhood. Can’t have both with so much more on the line, and they both knew that before making their decision. What’s the excitement in another million or two when you’ve already got more than you know what to do with, anyway.

 

Debbie lets out a _hmm_ which sounds like a _no_ , and Lou sighs dramatically, deals her ace in the hole.

 

“Her and the girls. We’re doing teams.”

 

“Bring it on,” Debbie replies immediately, and Lou nods, stifles a laugh because _thought so_ , because there’s nothing Debbie loves more than a challenge.

 

They stop about halfway through their planned route, take a seat at a bench overlooking the lake. Debbie parks the stroller and Lou texts Constance their decision, slips her phone back in her pocket before reaching into the stroller and lifting a fussy Dominique out.

 

“Wants her mum,” Lou says quickly enough, knows within a few bounces that nothing else is going to curb the swiftly approaching hangry meltdown, and she holds her, waits until Debbie’s gotten the bottle she’d prepped earlier out of the bag before handing their daughter over.

 

A comfortable silence falls over them, a rarity now with six other people and a baby in their lives, and Lou savors it while she can. She’d wondered briefly, just after the heist, if Debbie would grow tired of it. Not because of the bullshit parole spiel Debbie recites, professional to the core and still sticking to a straight story, but simply because she’d always been more at ease with being at rest than Debbie has. A nine to five isn’t what she wants to do with the rest of her life either, but it’s nice every now and then to just sit and count your money, a satisfaction all of its own.

 

But it’s true that she doesn’t know what prison’s like, and the Met had run smoother than any other con they’d pulled, calculated restraint showing through in everything Debbie had planned. In the inevitable discussions about themselves they’d had after, too, as well as six months later in her proposal.

 

Lou shifts closer, leans against Debbie’s shoulder, and feels Debbie press back lightly.

 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Debbie says, content, and Lou reaches out and lets Dom’s little fingers grasp and curl over one of hers, couldn’t agree more.

 

“It is.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
